He didn't say it
by Rae Himura
Summary: But House knew what he meant. Episode tag for Birthmarks. Spoilers. House/Wilson


**Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, this would be a lot less unspoken.**

**More story throw-up, raw and barely edited. R & R greatly appreciated, especially about the tortured grammar :)**

When he first woke up in the car, disoriented and woozy, and his eyes found their way to Wilson sitting in the driver's seat, he hadn't been able to help himself. He'd been giddy. It didn't matter that his face was screwed up in a scowl and every detail of his posture spoke of tension. It didn't matter that he had been tricked, that he was probably going to be forced to go to the funeral of a man he couldn't stand. It didn't even matter that they immediately fell into the bitching and pettiness and war. Wilson was there. Sitting not four feet away, when House had almost accepted he was lost forever.

Whatever happened, this meant there was a chance. That hope he had not dared to hope, but still not dared to quell returned full force. He was going to get him back.

By the time they were arguing in the funeral home, just beyond the door that held back the sea of family and grief and acting that was the outside world, House had all but forgotten his mission. He was frustrated, angry, hurt – fed up with Wilson and with the guessing and posturing and denial. He couldn't make things worse at this point, and they sure as hell weren't getting better without something drastic. So he unleashed the torrent of his mind, let the feelings and hypotheses bubble over and rush out with abandon. Yes, he was scared to death of this final rejection. Yes, he knew he could be very wrong in his analysis and this would end up losing the other man forever. But if he wasn't raw and real and genuine now, he would never have the chance.

So he went on the attack. Wilson rose to the bait, finally awoken by the best and worst House had to offer. And he was right: it was never boring.

But in the end, maybe it didn't matter. House had gone back to the hospital to save his patient's life. Wilson had gone back to his own life. For all House knew, nothing had changed. So he set about to drink until he didn't care.

Then there was Wilson, standing awkwardly in his office, offering platitudes as reasons.

"Is that why you're here? A colleague checking up on a patient?"

He was too tired to play anymore games.

Wilson deflected to his drinking. House deflected to his father, surprised that he'd rather deal with that than what was going on between them. If there even was a 'them' anymore.

"It doesn't make any difference at all, that's what depresses me."

House knew it would be as obvious to Wilson as it was to him that he was talking about more than his father. He just wasn't sure if he wanted him to respond. When Wilson turned away as he talked, House almost held his breath.

"I'm not even sure anymore we get to choose who our friends are."

House's eyes leapt up to scrutinize Wilson, struggling to read his expression and his statement. When Wilson met his gaze, House could read it in his eyes before he spoke. He talked about business, their careers. He didn't say he was coming back to him, but House knew what he meant.

"If you're coming back just because you're attracted to the shine of my neediness – I'd be ok with that."

House spoke of an old joke, an old argument. He didn't speak of old worries, of hurts both old and new. Of desperate need and unacknowledged want. He didn't speak of welcoming arms, but Wilson knew what he meant.

"I'm coming back because you were right."

Wilson admitted fun, annoying and strange as it may be. He didn't admit that House had been right about everything. He had pushed House away because he was afraid of losing him. Because after Amber's death, he knew he couldn't take another blow like that. He didn't admit that House was right – that he _was_ the most important person in Wilson's life. That he always had been. But House knew what he meant.

And even after all they'd been through over the last months, they still didn't know how to break the rules of their game. How to speak the unspoken. So House didn't admit how lost he'd been without him, ask him to never leave again. Wilson didn't say 'I love you' and House didn't say it back.

House asked him out to dinner. And Wilson knew what he meant.


End file.
